


Trouble At The Kazakhstan Border

by PineappleHead (Rakizna), Sanguine (Rakizna)



Series: Judas [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 1985), Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakizna/pseuds/PineappleHead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakizna/pseuds/Sanguine
Summary: Shawn Spencer lost his license to kill. This is the story of why a world-class assassin decided to go home to Santa Barbara and become a world-class detective...Originally posted on Psychfic.com“My pilot's license? Out back in the Cessna. Or perhaps you're referring to my license to kill? Revoked. Problems at the Kazakhstan border. I could give you the details, but then I'd have to kill you…which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked!”------Shawn Spencer, ‘Poker? I Barely Know Her’
Series: Judas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722307
Kudos: 12
Collections: Pineapples With Personality





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For once, good ol' Mac is going to be taking a starring role. This story takes place in the middle of my previous story, "Judas In My Mind," due to my stupidity in experimenting with a time-skipping structure, and it fits somewhere in the middle. It's also a prequel to "The Weight Of My World," which at the time of this posting is a WIP.
> 
> You can thank Koohii Kappu and Emachinescat for getting me interested in exploring the meeting between Mac and Shawn that caused our favorite fake psychic to leave his criminal life.
> 
> However, the greatest thanks go to my dear friend Uniquelyjas. This story is 100% dedicated to her. She's been a friend, a writing partner, a beta reader, and an overall patient person throughout this whole process. I literally could not have written this story without her. So please look her up on FFN or MacGyver Online and shower her with all your love and reviews. :-D

###  January 5, 2006

The job was supposed to be simple: go in, eliminate the target, and get out. Of course nothing with HIT was ever truly simple. 

When Shawn was first recruited by Murdoc eleven years ago, he’d naïvely assumed that he’d be some kind of glamorous super spy ripped straight from the pages of a James Bond novel. But the realities of being a secret agent were a bit more ignoble. 

Such as the way he faceplanted into a pile of red dirt, sending a flurry of dust flying all over his encrusted face and adding another layer to the dirt that was already caked onto his clothes. 

An exit plan! Murdoc had taught him to  _ always  _ have an exit plan. Well, his exit plan had sputtered and died eight miles from where he needed to be, and now he was trapped in the middle of nowhere with a band of guerrillas after him… 

Not to mention that he had the sneaking suspicion that someone was following him. 

Shawn got to his knees and blinked the earth out of his eyes, coughing to get it out of his nose. The copter crash had definitely been sabotage. He’d known that the aircraft had been tampered with as soon he’d jumped inside, but it was too late---the chopper was his only way out. So he flew it as long as he could before being forced to make an emergency (messy) landing and bailing out into this patch of desert border wasteland in southern Kazakhstan, just trying to make it back to civilization. 

But who could’ve sabotaged the helicopter? Shawn didn’t have an answer. 

He dragged himself to his feet, stumbling a few more steps and shaking grit out of the creases of his black leather jacket. His ribs and legs were burning, but he only had a few miles left to go… 

Someone from behind grabbed his shoulder. 

Shawn reflexively spun around, his instincts and training taking over as he ducked the swinging fist about to collide with his face. He rammed his assailant with a headbutt to the midsection and reached for the rifle strapped to his back, but his opponent was quicker.

The duct tape was around Shawn’s wrists before he even knew what was happening. 

“What the---hey! Lemme go!” 

“It's about time I caught up with you,” the big middle-aged guy snapped. With deft hands, he knocked Shawn off-balance and tossed the rifle aside as if it were a venomous snake. 

“Hey!” Shawn protested. “Murdoc gave me that!” He wriggled away from his captor and tried to grab the hunting knife strapped to his ankle instead.

“Oh, no you don’t!” The guy lunged for Shawn right as the younger assassin flicked his bound wrists and sent the knife flying with skilled precision. Time seemed to slow before Shawn’s eyes as he watched the guy reflexively twist his head to the left, the blade slipping less than a centimeter away from his tanned cheek as it flew past and buried itself deep in the sandy ground.

Shawn scrambled backwards, mind reeling in shock. “No way! How’d you do that?”

“Sheer dumb luck,” the guy said as he recovered and hauled Shawn to his feet. “You got any other hidden surprises I should know about?”

“Only my amazing ability to make balloon animals, but unless today’s your birthday, that’s not really relevant right now,” Shawn replied glibly as he stole a moment to observe his opponent. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted slightly as he stilled his mind. 

Longish hair, once dirty blond now streaked with gray. Hard-set lines in the face, around the eyes and mouth especially. Tall, a few scars, indentation in the back pocket for a flattened roll of--- 

Wait a minute. 

Shawn was not proud of the terrified, high-pitched scream that escaped his throat at the top of his lungs. 

“Would you cut that out?” the guy shouted, releasing Shawn in disgust. “You’re going to alert everyone and their brother to our position, and you’re going to get us both killed!” 

“I’m not gonna die here! This is  _ not  _ how The Catch dies!” Shawn rushed on his knees to the spot where his knife had landed, digging frantically through the sandy dirt. 

His opponent could only stare. “What on Earth are you yelling about?”

“I’m not going to let you kill me the way you tried to kill Murdoc!”

The man’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe this! Me, killing Murdoc? It was the other way around!  _ He  _ tried to kill  _ me,  _ and  _ I  _ just tried to get out of the way!”

“You’re a Liar McLyingface with pantalones de fuego! He told me all about you,  _ MacGyver!  _ And he told me everything that you did to him!” Shawn abandoned hope of finding the knife and made another lunge for the rifle instead. 

MacGyver kicked the weapon way. “Whatever Murdoc may have told you, it wasn’t the truth!” he shouted. “He came after me first! And I didn’t even do anything wrong! I tried to help him out, and I ended up having a staring contest with a bazooka, so don’t let him trick you into blaming  _ me  _ for anything!” 

Then MacGyver stopped himself, swallowing hard. “Not that it’s going to do me any good to tell you any of this. You’re a cold-blooded killer, just like he is.”

Shawn’s smirk had acid in it, just as it had when he used to speak to Henry. “Thanks for the compliment.” 

MacGyver grabbed Shawn by the jacket collar and starting pushing Shawn back in the direction that he’d come from. “Why don’t you save your breath? It’s a long walk ahead of us.” 

“We’re going backwards,” Shawn complained. 

“We’re going back to the helicopter that you flew up here,” MacGyver corrected. 

Shawn scoffed. “You’re wasting your time. The rotor’s busted.” 

“ _ Was  _ busted.”

“There’s no way you could’ve fixed that.”

He tried to land a side kick into a combat roll to break away, but MacGyver easily avoided the attack without even losing his grip on Shawn’s neck.

“You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.”

*********************

MacGyver carefully layered the last strip of duct tape over Shawn’s legs, securing him to the helicopter’s passenger seat. 

Shawn hit him with an eyeroll. “Attention, passengers, your captain has turned on the flashing seat belt sign. Make sure you buckle up---if you can actually get to the seat belt.” He scoffed. “I’m kinda surprised that your plan isn’t to drop me out once we’re up in the air. You seem to like sending Murdoc on long falls.”

“If I ever did anything to Murdoc, it was in self-defense. Now will you be quiet? I need to think.” 

Shawn watched as MacGyver went through the pre-flight checklist, started the chopper, and eased it up into the air. “Where are we going?”

“Azerbaijan. I’ve got an old friend there who can take us back to the States.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Bring you to justice.”

Shawn shook his head. “I won’t let you kill me. I’ll take you out first.”

“You need to get this notion that I’m some kind of vigilante out of your heart. I’m just going to hand you over to the DXS so that they can arrest you and put you on trial for everything you’ve done.”

Shawn rolled his eyes again. “You and what evidence? You don’t have anything on me. I know how to make sure of that.”

“The DXS will turn up something.”

“No, they’re gonna claim that I turned hostile and take me out, that’s what they’re gonna do.”

MacGyver’s grip tightened on the helicopter controls until the skin around his knuckles was stretched white and taut. “Regardless, I can’t live with knowing that you and Murdoc are out there killing innocent people. Frank Colton was my friend, and he was a good man.”

“Who?”

A wave of grief washed over the troubleshooter’s face. “You don’t even know his  _ name.” _

Shawn shrugged as much as possible beneath the seatbelts and duct tape. “Probably because I didn’t kill him.” 

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me! I know it was you.” 

“It  _ wasn’t me.  _ Do you have a picture of the guy or something? Something I can look at?”

MacGyver lifted one hand from the chopper controls to fish his wallet from his jeans pocket. He held up a tiny picture of the curly-haired bounty hunter for Shawn to see. 

The assassin shook his head. “It definitely wasn’t me. I didn’t kill him. I have a photographic memory, Jack, and I remember every single mission that I’ve ever been on. He wasn’t one of ‘em.”

“If you didn’t kill him, then who did? And why did I get a Polaroid of his death in the mail? Now that Murdoc's out of the picture,  _ you're  _ the only hitman who does that.” 

“I don’t know, man. Sounds like someone’s trying to cover up a murder and pin it on me. Did the guy have any enemies? Someone who would know my or Murdoc’s M.O.?”

“Maybe,” MacGyver said slowly. “Bounty hunters cross a lot of the wrong people, after all…”

“See?” Shawn said pointedly. “All I know for sure is that right now, you’ve got the wrong guy.” 

MacGyver released a tense sigh. “I’m willing to accept that I might’ve made a mistake in blaming you. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a hitman and you need to face the music.”

“I’m  _ not _ a hitman,” Shawn snapped. “I’m an  _ assassin.  _ There’s a big difference.”

“Is there? Because I don’t see it!” MacGyver shot back. 

Abruptly, the helicopter shook hard with a loud metallic crack, lurching in the air. 

“I told you the rotor couldn’t be fixed!”

“That wasn’t the rotor,” MacGyver said. “That was gunfire, and we’ve been hit.”

Shawn’s heart leaped to his throat. “You mean we’re going down?”

“If they hit us again, yeah.”

“Cut me loose!” 

“No way!”

“I’m serious. I can get us out of this!”

“I’m not letting you loose!”

“Just let me go and I can get us out alive. If you don’t, we both die! You’re wasting time and you’ve got nothing to lose!” 

The silence seem to stretch into infinity until, wordlessly, MacGyver flicked open his Swiss Army knife and slashed through the duct tape. 

Peeling himself free, Shawn scrambled for the controls. “You might wanna strap in.”

MacGyver just looked at him.

“No, seriously, dude!” Shawn shouted he lurched the helicopter into a hard left bank. “You might wanna buckle up!”

“Ah!” MacGyver, fumbling and unsteady, fell into the passenger’s seat and clasped the safety restraints as fast as humanly possible. “What idiot gave you a pilot’s license?!”

“Unofficially, Murdoc gave me a few lessons during training. Officially, I got it from this guy I met in Azerbaijan about three weeks ago.”

As Shawn drove the copter through a series of increasingly impossible maneuvers that the machine was never meant to endure, MacGyver willed himself not to be sick. 

“This guy who gave you the license---was he kinda scruffy-looking, the type to do anything for money? Aviator hat, gray mustache, twitchy eye?”

“Yeah! You know him?”

_ “Know  _ him? Jack Dalton? If I make it through this alive, I’m pretty sure I’m going to  _ kill  _ him!” 

“We’ll survive the crash, but getting out of Kazakhstan might be a different story.”

“Crash? What?!”

“Don’t worry! I’ve seen Murdoc do this at least twice!”

“That’s not comforting!” 

“Hold on tight!”

“How’d I let myself get talked into this?!” 

The black, military-grade guerrilla helicopter plowed to ground just feet away from the craft Shawn as piloting dangerously low to the earth. He continued to skim low for a few moments before lifting it up high, angling the copter away from the plume of dark smoke lifting up from the hostiles’ crash. 

“Why are you flying higher instead of landing?” MacGyver asked, face ashen and sweaty as he tore his gaze from the window. “I thought you said we were going to crash.”

“We are, but we don’t want to do it so close to where they crashed, or their search parties will find us before we can get away. We’re gonna crash hard this time, so we’re gonna have to jump.”

“Great,” MacGyver hissed through clenched teeth. “Just great.”

Both of them grabbed a parachute and strapped it on as if on autopilot---both of them all too familiar with jumping from aircraft and near-death experiences. 

Based on the wind direction and the speed & angle of their descent, Shawn guessed that they were going to land about half a mile from where their abandoned helicopter would crash. That distance would give them a head start, but it wouldn’t be enough; they were still five miles from the border, travelling on foot against Jeeps and ATVs in rough steppe terrain. 

Shawn made a picture-perfect landing on the dry ground, just as he’d been taught. His first instinct was to reach for one of the weapons strapped beneath his shirt or hidden inside his jacket, but he resisted the temptation---any hope of escaping MacGyver hinged on not being disarmed. Overpowering MacGyver in the short term hadn't worked, so Shawn would have to play what Murdoc called “a long game.”

“Let the games begin,” Shawn muttered under his breath as he freed himself from the confines of the parachute. 

MacGyver was already dismantling his chute, cutting it into long strips of fabric and stuffing loose strings into his pockets. Shawn knew better than to ask what Mac was doing. Instead, he held up his empty palms in surrender as he approached the troubleshooter. MacGyver paused in his salvaging, eyeing Shawn with suspicion. 

“Look, man, whatever you might think of me, we stand a better chance of getting out of Kazakhstan alive if we work together. What do you say?” Shawn said, offering hm a handshake. 

MacGyver dropped the remnants of his parachute and wiped the dust off his hands. “How do I know that as soon as we reach the border, you won't try to kill me?”

“How do  _ I  _ know that as soon as we reach the border, you won't try to hogtie me and leave me for the DXS just like John Wayne in that movie with the giant ants and the Australian aborigines?”

“That wasn't John Wayne. You're thinking of Tom Selleck.” 

“The guy from  _ Men In Black?” _

“No, that's Tommy Lee Jones.” 

“The guy from Mötley Crüe was in  _ Men In Black?”  _

MacGyver shook his head. “Do you have a point to all this?”

“Yeah, I do, and my point is…” Shawn pretended to hesitate, slapping on his best ‘scared kid’ look. “Look, I really don't wanna die out here in Kazakhstan. I want to make it home in one piece.”

MacGyver sighed and finally shook Shawn's hand. “All right. Fine. We'll get you home.”

Then he gave Shawn a scrap of fabric. “Now take this. In this weather, we won't get very far without something to protect our heads and faces.” As he tied some cloth turban-like around his head, he added, “Also, you might want to lose the black jacket.” 

“No way,” Shawn said firmly. 

MacGyver shrugged. “Suit yourself. From my estimates, we're a little less than five miles from the border. If we travel due west and don't get off-course, we can make it to Azerbaijan. It'll take us the rest of the day and probably some of the night, but we can do it, so let's get going.”

Shawn nodded and followed him. 

“How'd a kid like you end up working for a guy like Murdoc?” MacGyver asked about a quarter mile into the journey. 

“I'm not a kid.”

“You know what I mean.”

Shawn sighed slowly. Talking would make this agonizingly slow journey go faster, and he didn't see the harm in discussing this with MacGyver…especially since he planned to kill the guy the first chance he got. “He helped me out of jail.”

“Jail, huh?”

Shawn nodded curtly. “Yeah. Grand theft auto. I was eighteen.”

“A little young to be jacking cars.”

“I didn't do it.” Shawn snorted. “I borrowed my neighbor's car to impress a girl. We drove it down the block, made out in the front seat---you know, high school stuff. We were only gonna use it for an hour or so and then we'd put it back. No big deal. But instead, my dad decided to ruin my life.”

“He turned you in?” MacGyver guessed. 

“He was my arresting officer.”

“And Murdoc got you out of it, huh? In exchange for working with him?”

“Yeah. Pretty much. Murdoc's my family now.”

MacGyver glances sideways at Shawn. “Breaking ties with your dad must have really hurt you.”

Shawn bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, it was a long time ago.”

“There are some things that time doesn't heal.”

Shawn glared at him. “I know what you're doing.”

MacGyver's voice was easy and nonchalant, as if he were walking through a park talking about the weather instead of walking across a steppe and talking about Shawn's past. “What am I doing?”

“You're trying to get my guard down. Find out where I'm vulnerable. What my weaknesses are.”

“What makes you think I'd want to do that?”

“I don't know. Get me to turn against Murdoc, maybe?”

“All I want is for Murdoc to leave me alone. I gave up on catching him a long time ago. As long as he's not killing anyone, I don't want to have anything to do with him. I just want to forget he exists.”

MacGyver trudged ahead by a couple steps, leaving his back exposed for a well-placed attack. Shawn knew that MacGyver was lying---consciously or not, he couldn't tell---and he knew that if he were smart, he'd kill his rival right then. But something in MacGyver's tone made Shawn curious, and he had a lot of questions that Murdoc had never answered… 

Shawn made his decision. 

It only took him a couple of seconds to catch up with MacGyver. 

*********************

“How much farther?” Shawn whined. 

“For the fifth time, we have three miles left to go. Now, will you stop asking every five minutes? You're driving me crazy!”

“But I'm hot!”

“So take off your jacket like I told you to in the first place.”

Shawn looked down at himself and huffed. “Fine.” Taking off the jacket would put him at a disadvantage if he needed anything out of the pockets quickly, but MacGyver was right. He settled for taking the jacket off and tying it around his waist. He started to take off his black t-shirt, too, but MacGyver stopped him. 

“Don't do that!” 

Shawn frowned. “Why not?”

“In the desert, you have to be resourceful with your sweat.” 

Shawn stared at him. “I'm not drinking my own sweat, man!”

MacGyver pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't mean that, okay? Listen to what I'm telling you. If you take your shirt off, your sweat will evaporate and you'll dehydrate. Fast. But if you keep it on, the cloth forms a barrier that keeps the moisture close to your skin so that your body can re-absorb it.”

“So I stay hotter, but live longer. Okay, nice. But speaking of moisture---now I have to pee.”

“Do you complain this much with Murdoc?”

“Yes.”

MacGyver shook his head. “How do I know that you're not just using this as a chance to escape?”

Shawn threw his hands up in the air. “Dude, I'm in a giant sandbox. Where am I gonna go?”

“All right, fine. Just go behind that rock over there.”

Shawn hesitated. 

MacGyver crossed his arms. “What is it?”

“A rock isn't a bathroom…”

“We don't have time for this. Look, we're men. The world is our toilet, or at least it is according to Jack Dalton. Now either go over there and do your business or stop complaining so that we can move on.”

“Fine,” Shawn grumbled, moving to the other side of the huge sandstone boulder. 

Rolling his eyes, MacGyver took the opportunity to climb onto a smaller rock and gaze across the flat, arid land in all directions. They'd already come farther than he'd expected without trouble; maybe---

No. A cloud of dust on the horizon.

“Shawn, hurry up,” MacGyver urged. 

“Dude! Just give me five minutes of privacy here, okay?!”

“We may not have five minutes to spare!”

Shawn's head poked up from behind the boulder. MacGyver noticed the way his eyes squinted and his head tilted to the left as he scanned the horizon. Evidently, Shawn saw the dust cloud, too. 

“We need a place to hide,” MacGyver said matter-of-factly. 

“Well,” Shawn answered, “the good news is that underneath the rock on this side, there's a big gap where the wind and stuff wore some kinda sinkhole thing in the ground.”

“And the bad news is that it's too small?”

“No, it's plenty big for the both of us. The bad news is that it's pretty much right where I just…uh…”

MacGyver groaned. “I'm getting too old for this.”

The two men gingerly wedged themselves into the crater that had formed between the sandstone rock and the arid ground. 

“You know, I'm really starting to dislike you,” MacGyver grumbled. 

“Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual,” Shawn replied. 

Both of them quieted as they senses the vibrations in the ground, the steady rumbling of approaching Jeeps. A swarm of ten or fifteen vehicles sped across the plateau, parting to evade rocks and merging again, camouflage paint rippling like snake scales in the setting sun. 

Shawn fought off the temptation to hold his breath until the guerrilla scouts were past, instead forcing himself to keep his breathing deep and even. 

“They're gone,” MacGyver said at last. 

“They might circle back.”

“They might.”

“What do we do?”

MacGyver shrugged. After a moment, he said, “Our only chance is to make it to the border. We have to keep moving.”

“It'll be nightfall soon.”

“Good. We'll have more cover.”

“It'll get cold.”

“Motivation to walk faster.”

“What if they intercept us?”

MacGyver raised his voice. “You got any better ideas? ‘Cause if you do, I'd sure love to hear ‘em.”

Shawn was silent. 

“That's what I thought. We don't have much farther to go.”

“But what do we do if they catch us?”

“We'll deal with that when we get there.” MacGyver dusted himself off, checked their direction, and started to walk. 

Shawn followed, fuming. There were still questions burning in his mind, and now was the time to ask them. “I told you how I met Murdoc. Since we have nothing else to do while we walk through this desert, why don't you tell me how you met him?”

“Didn't Murdoc tell you everything you need to know?” MacGyver asked sarcastically. 

Shawn decided to be blunt. “Sometimes Murdoc lies.”

“That's an understatement.” After a long silence, MacGyver said, “I was driving Jack Dalton's cab. It was  _ years  _ ago. One day, I picked up a woman named Sarah and let her off at a sleazy warehouse. I thought I should check on her, so I followed her and saw her fighting with a man. I figured she was in trouble, so I ran in to help.”

“And Sarah was really Murdoc,” Shawn chuckled. “Classic.”

“And then for the next decade or so after that, he was in and out of my life and my nightmares, and every time he came back, he made my life a living hell. Then he finally got  _ out _ of my life and _ into  _ Penny Parker's---which was just as bad, maybe worse.”

“Penny didn't seem to mind,” Shawn commented. 

MacGyver blinked in shock. “You know Penny?”

“Of course I do. She's like family. Or…she  _ was.” _

MacGyver's jaw tightened again. “She was like my little sister. Murdoc used her to get to me.”

“I know how they first met,” Shawn said. “Penny told me all about it. 

MacGyver smiled sadly. “Why am I not surprised?”

Shawn looked away. “She talked about you sometimes.”

“Did she tell you something different than Murdoc?”

“Yeah.” Shawn's voice sounded thick, and he didn't even know why. “I miss her.”

“Was she happy?” MacGyver whispered. 

“Yeah. She was.” Shawn cleared his throat in a futile struggle to compose himself. “She missed you, though.”

“I missed her, too.” MacGyver hesitated. “Did he really love her?”

“He still does.”

Mac sighed, stopping to wipe dust from his face. “I didn't even get the chance to see her one last time.”

“None of us did. I can't even believe that it's been a year since the fire.”

“The last thing I said to her was---well, it wasn't what I would've chosen to be my last words for her.”

“It's okay. She didn't blame you. For anything.”

“She should have. It's my fault for letting Murdoc keep her away from me. I should've taken the high---”

Immediately, the switch inside Shawn flipped from grief to rage again. “Don't blame this on Murdoc! What happened to Penny wasn't his fault!”

“That wasn't what I was talking about, and I never said that. Although, you have to admit that if he hadn't married her, she wouldn't have been in that theater.”

“You don't know that! Besides, he blames himself enough already!”

MacGyver's retort died in his throat. “He does?”

“Yeah.”

MacGyver ran a hand through his silvering hair, looking at the purple and orange bands of sunset in the sky. “Tell you what. Instead of arguing with each other in the middle of the desert, we should be working on something productive.”

“Like what?”

“We need water. We've been going too long without it already.”

Shawn took a long look at MacGyver. He looked…tired. Something about it made Shawn feel unsettled. 

He reached into one of the pockets hidden in the liner of his leather jacket, smirking slightly at the wary look on MacGyver’s face. 

MacGyver’s expression shifted to surprise and then confusion when Shawn offered him a small canteen. “You’ve had this the whole time?”

Shawn shrugged. “You don’t think I’m stupid enough to go into the desert without water, do you?”

MacGyver almost smiled as he unscrewed the lid of the canteen, but the half-smile vanished as he looked into it, lifting it hesitantly to his lips.

“It’s not poison, I swear,” Shawn said. “I just figured that you need it more than me because, you know, you’re old and crumbly and I don’t want things to start falling off of you or something.”

MacGyver coughed as some of the water went down the wrong pipe. “I’m not  _ that  _ old! You talk to Murdoc that way?”

“Sometimes.” 

MacGyver snorted. “Well, how about we refill this canteen?”

Shawn glanced around in confusion. “With what?”

“With the resources we have available,” MacGyver said with a smug grin, pointing past Shawn's shoulder. 

Shawn turned to look and saw a cluster of short, scruffy-looking bushes with spiny leaves. “So, what? Are we gonna get water out of a cactus or something?”

“Nah, that only works in Westerns. Most species of cactus are toxic.”

“Well, please tell me that we're not gonna chew the water out of those leaves or something.”

“We're not, but your guess is pretty close. These are saxaul trees. They grow all over the place in this part of Kazakhstan.” 

Shawn eyed him skeptically. “Let's pretend like I know what that means while you tell me what you want me to do.”

MacGyver offered Shawn a Swiss Army knife and said, “Start collecting big strips of bark. Not too much, or you'll hurt the tree.”

“Right,” Shawn said sarcastically. “Because God forbid I should hurt a tree's feelings while I'm running for my life in the wilderness. Sure.” He lifted up his hand before MacGyver could speak. “And no moral lectures, please. I used to get enough of those from Henry.”

MacGyver watched with muted surprise as Shawn ignored the knife he was offering and produced a nearly identical Swiss from his jacket pocket. “Henry's your father?”

“Yeah,” Shawn said firmly as he followed MacGyver's lead in collecting saxaul bark. “If you want to call him that. I'm still hoping that maybe Mom had a wild night in Vegas or got abducted by aliens or something.”

MacGyver glanced at him in the darkness. The sun had fully set and they could see only by moonlight. Shawn's black clothes blended into the shadows and the pale light washed out his face like a ghost. MacGyver suppressed an irrational shudder and looked back at the strips of saxaul he had gathered. “Have you thought about making amends with Henry?”

“No,” Shawn lied. “I left that part of my life behind a long time ago. C'mon, man, I don't wanna do this with you right now. We were just starting to get along.” 

MacGyver sighed. “Take it from me, okay? I lost my father when I was younger than you, and it still hurts me to this day. I still regret all the lost time and all the things I didn't say. You may not have lost your dad in the same way that I lost mine, but someday you will. He won't be around forever, and neither will you. Losing a parent is hard no matter how it happens. Try to make things right with him now, while you both still have a chance.”

“I don't have to listen to you.” 

“Would you listen if it were Murdoc telling you?”

“Murdoc knows what I've been through. He wouldn't ever tell me to go back.” 

“Murdoc also manipulated you into joining an organization that forces you to kill people for a living.”

“They don't force me to do anything, okay?”

MacGyver lifted an eyebrow. “Wait and see what happens when you try to get out.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that as soon as you decide that you're tired of this criminal life, they'll put a contract out on  _ you.  _ Or did Murdoc leave that detail out when he made you into a murderer for hire?”

“That's not true. That  _ can't  _ be true. Murdoc left HIT years ago, and he's still fine.”

“He's fine  _ now.  _ But I'm willing to bet that he didn't say anything about retiring until  _ after  _ you were there to take his place. Is that right?”

Shawn was powerless against the frown creeping across his face. “That---that doesn't mean anything. Murdoc wanted to leave a legacy, that's all. That's why he trained me first.”

MacGyver shrugged. “Well, you know him better than I do, don't you?” 

Somehow the remark came out sounding…ominous. 

“Now lay the bark on that flat rock over there. Be ready with that canteen.”

“What are we doing now?”

MacGyver hefted a heavy rock with a wince and replied, “Saxaul bark stores water. So, we're going to press it. The water will be squeezed right out.” 

After a few minutes and some clever work with the rocks, the two of them had refilled the canteen with enough water for both of them. MacGyver dropped his rock with a slight hiss of pain, leaning back against a boulder. 

“Dude, you don't sound so good,” Shawn said hesitantly. 

“I'm fine.”

“You don't  _ sound  _ fine.”

“Well, I  _ am,” _ MacGyver snapped. Then he paused. “Sorry. Been a long day.”

Shawn was quiet for a long moment. “Well, even if you're fine, I need some rest, and I'm not moving another step until the sun comes up!” He flopped down onto the dirt beside MacGyver's rock to illustrate his point. 

“Well…” MacGyver said slowly. “I guess we only have a couple hours or so until the sun comes up… And getting a little sleep wouldn't hurt us any.” He nodded down at the boulder. “Besides, if we sleep beneath this overhang, that and the saxaul should give us plenty of cover.”

“Great. This bush is mine, so you're gonna have to find your own.” Shawn folded up his jacket into a pillow and made himself as comfortable as he could on the ground. Turning on his side, he squinted to watch MacGyver moving in the darkness. “What are you doing now?”

“I'm trying to tie these parachute strings together into a longer rope.”

“O-kaay… May I ask why?” 

“I saw this in a Western once. They say that if you tie a rope in a circle on the ground around you while you sleep, the snakes won't cross it and get to you.”

“And you really think that's gonna work?”

“Not really, but it makes me feel better.”

Shawn snorted. “So you're scared of snakes, too. Nice. Am I the only person not bothered by reptiles?”

MacGyver rolled his eyes. “Good night to you, too.” 

*********************


	2. Chapter 2

###  January 6, 2006

It seemed like Shawn had just barely closed his eyes when the harsh sunlight woke him up. He yawned, but MacGyver's voice stopped him before he could stretch:

“Shawn, don't move.”

Shawn blinked. “Why not?”

“The snake won't hurt you as long as you stay still.” 

“I'm sorry, did you just say  _ snake?”  _ Shawn froze and then he felt it: the pressure of dry scales coiled up against his lower back. “Is it venomous?”

MacGyver nodded. “Yeah. Meadow viper. Smallest venomous snake in Europe. Their range spreads all the way to China.” 

“Okay, thanks for the  _ Zoobook  _ lesson, but how do I get away from it without it biting me?”

“It doesn't want to hurt you. It only came to you because of your body heat.”

“Did you seriously just tell me that the snake only wants me for my body? How is that helpful, man?”

Patiently, MacGyver replied, “The point is, it won't strike unless provoked. Now, I can probably lure it away with food. If that doesn't work, it'll leave on its own once the day gets hotter.”

“That's a long time to stay still!”

“I'll do the best I can to get it away fast. But until then---just don't move.” 

As MacGyver stepped away, Shawn just stayed there on his side in the dirt, trying to keep calm and get his mind off the situation. “ _ 1984,  _ Van Halen. Track 1, 1984. Track 2, Jump. Track 3, Panama…”

MacGyver easily converted his ‘snake rope’ into a snare, but actually catching a rodent or other small animal that a viper would be interested in would be a more difficult task. What would he do if their enemies found them while Shawn was still vulnerable? Or worse, what if he made it back to the saxaul grove and Shawn had already been bitten?

But those were things that he couldn't control; he pushed them out of his mind to focus on what he  _ could  _ do: catch food to distract the snake. 

After a few unsuccessful attempts, MacGyver managed to snare a squirming piebald shrew and made his way back to the sandstone boulder and saxaul grove. Shawn was still lying there on his side, with a very content-looking meadow viper curled up beside him. 

“...Corey Hart. Track 1, Boy in a Box. Track 2, Komrade Kiev. Track 3… Track 3… uh…”

“Never Surrender,” MacGyver finished as he carefully placed the still-living rodent on the ground in the snake's field of view. He stepped away from the little animal quickly, keeping one foot on the end of the long parachute string so that it couldn't run too far away. 

“Never Surrender, thank you. I always mix that one up with Everything In My Heart,” Shawn said. 

“Don't mention it. And I'm serious. If you tell anyone that I know that, we're gonna have a problem.” MacGyver watched the viper warily as it lifted its arrow-shaped head, forked black tongue lazily scenting the air. Its ruby-red eyes caught a glimpse of the shrew and, suddenly alert, the viper's tongue flicked faster. Uncoiling itself, the snake slithered across the dirt, rugged brown and beige scales leaving rough impressions in the ground. 

Shawn remained frozen for a moment more, muscles tense. 

“All right,” MacGyver murmured, taking his foot off the rope. “Now, Shawn!”

One hand clutching his leather jacket, Shawn dove away from the snake as fast as he could, scrambling to his feet and running to MacGyver as the viper pursued the fleeing shrew. 

  
  


“I never wanna do that again in my life,” Shawn said, breathless and shaking. 

“Now you know why I don't like snakes,” MacGyver said. “Think you're okay to move on? We probably don't have much farther to go.”

Shawn nodded, hugging his balled-up jacket like a protective shield. “Yeah. Let's get out of here.”

After they picked their way out of the saxaul grove, MacGyver cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm good,” Shawn replied. 

“You went more than five minutes without opening your mouth, and that seemed unusual for you.”

Shawn smiled a little. “I was just thinking.”

“Is that unusual for you, too?”

Shawn ignored the tease and just blurted out what was on his mind. “You saved my life.”

MacGyver shrugged. “I think the shrew deserves most of the credit, since it did all the work.”

“Yeah, but… Why?”

“My guess is that it didn't want to get eaten.”

“You know what I mean.”

MacGyver was quiet for a second. “I never believed in all that eye-for-an-eye stuff, I guess.”

“Even though you think I killed your friend?”

MacGyver kept staring straight ahead. “I'm certain that you're a killer, but if you say you didn't kill Frank Colton, then I believe you.”

Shawn sighed. “For what it's worth--- Well, I think I owe you one. I hate Henry and everything he put me through as a kid, but he did teach me how to be a pretty good detective. If you want, I… I can help you figure out who killed him.”

“I would appreciate that. …And at the risk of sounding like a moral lecture, maybe that might help you start to make amends. Turn your life around.”

Shawn shook his head slowly. “I'm not interested in being a cop. I chose this secret agent life, and I don't regret it.”

“Secret agent?” MacGyver echoed in surprise. “Is that what you think you've been doing? Assassinating people for the government or something?”

“Well, yeah. That's what HIT does.” 

MacGyver stopped in his tracks and grabbed Shawn by the shoulders in a death-grip. “You need to tell me  _ exactly  _ what Murdoc told you about the people you work for.”

Shawn frowned. “He told me that HIT carries out assassinations. Mostly of dangerous criminals. Sure, there’s some corruption here and there, but we’re no worse than the CIA or the DXS.”

MacGyver gaped. “He didn’t tell you anything resembling the truth, did he?”

“What are you talking about, man?”

“I’m talking about arms smuggling, drug dealers, cold-blooded murder of innocent people.”

“None of the people that I kill are  _ innocent,  _ let me tell you that right now.”

“You don’t know that! Do you think Homicide International Trust cares if innocent people get hurt, as long as they’re still lining their pockets?”

Shawn finally stopped and stared. “Homicide what?”

MacGyver spoke very, very slowly, with each word measured. “H-I-T. Homicide International Trust. The people you work for.”

“Homicide?  _ Homicide?  _ What are---what are you saying?”

MacGyver took a deep breath. “It's sort of a multinational Murder Incorporated. You're working for a band of criminals, Shawn. You're not a spy or a secret agent or a troubleshooter or a government-sanctioned assassin. You're not working for any kind of nation or agency or peacekeeping force. You're---”

“A  _ murderer, _ ” Shawn finished, eyes hollow. “Oh my God. Now everything makes sense.”

MacGyver finally released his grip on Shawn's shoulders. “I'm sorry.”

Shawn backed away. “No. No, no way. There's---there's no way. This isn't possible. That can't be possible. Murdoc wouldn't. He just wouldn't do that to me.”

“I understand how upset you must---”

“He wouldn't do that to  _ me!”  _ Shawn shouted at no one in particular. Then he curled up into a ball in the dirt, hugging his gritty knees. 

MacGyver stood beside him, one hand hovering over his shoulder. 

Shawn's eyes stung. “I'm out here in the middle of the desert for no reason, aren't I? I'm not out here because anyone needs me. I'm not out here because Murdoc is proud of me. I'm out here because---” His voice cracked and he coughed to force himself not to cry. Then he swallowed and ignored the burning in his throat. “I just wanted something to belong to, you know? I just wanted to feel…” 

“Special?”

“Valuable.” Shawn shook his head. “For once, I wanted to feel like somebody thought I was worth it.”

“Worth what?”

Shawn shrugged numbly, staring down at his boots. “I don't know. Anything, I guess. I wanted to stop feeling like the eight-year-old kid who spent a year of his life feeling like a failure because he couldn't find the Easter eggs that his dad hid five feet underground. I wanted to stop feeling like the kid who was never good enough. Murdoc made me feel like I was…good enough. Important. He's always treated me like---a  _ person,  _ you know? So I never thought that---I trusted him to---”

“I understand,” MacGyver said slowly. “You wanted out, and Murdoc gave you everything you ever wanted. I don't blame you. And I don't blame you for what you did with HIT, because you really didn't know. That's not on you, kid. That's on Murdoc. Not you.”

Shawn coughed again and nodded, pressing his eyes into his sleeves. “What do I do now?”

“That's up to you. But I think we should start by getting out of Kazakhstan, just like we've been doing. How about you?”

Shawn nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He got to his feet and once again, the two men set across the desert. Shawn walked with his leather jacket hugged to his chest. They were only a half mile from the border, by Shawn’s estimate, but of course, they’d have to make part of that journey by sea. 

“What exactly is the plan from here?” Shawn asked finally. “I had a guy who was going to meet up with me along the coast, but we’re miles away from the rendezvous point now. I’m guessing you have your own escape plan?”

“If you want to call it that. I just hope it actually works.”

“Great. Just great.” 

“Don’t worry. I promised you I’d get you back to the States in one piece, and I will.” 

“Seriously, though, what is the plan?”

“Get down!”

“That’s not much of a---” 

“Shawn!” MacGyver grabbed the younger man by the collar and tugged him down to the ground. 

Taking the hint, Shawn immediately flattened himself against into the dirt and glanced around, taking in their surroundings. Then he saw what he’d missed: sparkling flashes of light at the bottom of the hill, glinting like snake scales in the sun… 

“They’re waiting for us,” Shawn breathed. “The guerrillas must have figured where we were going.”

Mac nodded. “They must’ve found the seaplane.” 

“A seaplane? That’s how we’re going to get out? A seaplane?” Shawn grinned. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one of those!”

“Well, if you want a chance to try it, we’ll have to make it through those soldiers somehow.” MacGyver glanced at Shawn out of the corners of his eyes. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Me? You’d really trust  _ me  _ to give you an idea?” 

“Why not? Are you gonna give me a reason not to trust you?” 

Shawn fell quiet for a moment. “We’ll need a diversion.”

“Sure.”

Shawn let out a long, slow sigh and unrolled his jacket. He peeled away the inner lining to reveal his emergency “toolkit”: lengths of wire, a derringer pistol, some flash paper, a lighter…and bullets. Lots of bullets.

MacGyver’s eyes widened a fraction. “You’ve been carrying all of that? For all this time?” 

Shawn nodded mutely. 

“Across the desert?”

Another nod. 

MacGyver ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s get to work.” 

The last of the parachute string became a fuse for a pile of gunpowder nestled into the flash paper. Useless, the derringer and bullet casings were abandoned in the sand. 

MacGyver glanced at Shawn over their makeshift explosive. “Once I light this fuse, we run around the boulders and hide behind their Jeeps until all of them have gone to check out the blast. Then we sneak past any soldiers that are left behind and make straight for the plane. Last thing we need to do is wedge your jacket beneath those rocks. That’ll keep them looking for us.” 

“Do we have a backup plan if any of this goes wrong?”

“We’ll deal with that when we get there.”

Shawn fidgeted in the dirt. “I need to tell you something.”

MacGyver toyed with the lighter. “Let me guess: you were planning to kill me with that gun?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” The lighter flicked. The fuse lit. “Go.” 

Shawn followed him around the rocks, low to the ground like shadows. 

“What’re we going to do if the gunpowder doesn’t ignite? Or if the explosion isn’t big enough?” 

“We’ll deal with that when we get there. One thing at a time, kid.” 

A second later, there was a bright flash and a loud roar. “The gunpowder---let’s go.” 

As the soldiers took off towards the sound of the explosion, Mac and Shawn took off for the Cessna 208 that was bobbing on the waves of the Aral Sea. 

“Get in the plane,” Mac commanded as they ran. “I’ll untie it.” 

“You’re the only one who knows how to work a seaplane!  _ You  _ get in and start it and  _ I’ll  _ untie it!” 

“We don’t have time to argue! Just go!” 

Muttering under his breath, Shawn darted for the plane, slowing down as he had to wade through shallow water that eventually came up to his waist before he reached the door and clambered into the aircraft. He stumbled around the tiny cockpit for a few seconds before he got his bearings and found the ignition. Taking deep breaths, he forced himself to start working through the pre-flight checklist---what parts of it he knew. Glancing out the window, he could see MacGyver sawing through the rope with his Swiss. 

“Hurry up!” he shouted. 

“I’m trying!” MacGyver yelled back. 

Anxious, Shawn watched as MacGyver worked. Mac was almost finished cutting the rope when someone shouted in a different language---one of the soldiers had spotted the two of them and raced towards the plane. 

“MacGyver!” Shawn shouted. He reached for his last weapon: the small but lethal knife strapped to his chest.

Mac glanced up as the final thread snapped. He was directly between the plane and the soldier. 

Both of them had only a split second to react. 

Shawn delicately gripped the blade, just as he’d been taught. One throw. One flick of the wrist. Aim for the target. 

“Get down!” 

The knife whipped through the air just inches above MacGyver’s ducking head. The sharp blade buried itself in the soldier’s right shoulder, forcing him to drop his weapon with a howl of pain. 

Scrambling to his feet, MacGyver dove inside the plane and took his place as the pilot. “Would you stop cutting those throws so close?!” 

Shots resounded through the air; the wounded soldier had called back his buddies. But MacGyver was already pushing the plane across the water, gaining speed. By the time the band of fighters had reached the shoreline, the Cessna was already in the air. 

“I really like to complain about that new desk job that Phoenix stuck me with, but I’m going to admit that I never want to do that ever again,” MacGyver said. 

“They didn’t hit us, did they?” Shawn asked nervously. 

“No, they hit us plenty. But they missed the fuel tank, so we’ll be able to make it all the way back to Azerbaijan.” Mac glanced sideways at Shawn. “We’ll be back in time for dinner.” 

“I didn’t kill him,” Shawn said.

“You mean the soldier you hit with the knife?”

Shawn nodded. “I could’ve killed him. It would’ve been easy. I wasn’t aiming to kill him, but I could’ve aimed for his vitals. You’re supposed to take out the target. Neutralize the threat. And for the first time in eleven years, I…didn’t.”

“You didn’t kill him, and that’s a good thing.”

“I could’ve also killed you.”

“You didn’t.” 

“I thought about it.”

“Well, you couldn’t have thought long. Shouting for somebody to hit the dirt---that’s not much of a plan.” 

Shawn grinned. “I could’ve told you that.” The smile quickly faded. “I just figured I owed you one, that’s all. Because of the whole snake thing. Although, y,know, I had that viper right where I wanted him.”

MacGyver drawled, “Did you now?” Chuckling quietly, he added, “Thanks for helping out. I guess now we’re even, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Shawn slipped one hand into his pocket. “You know, it’s funny. I came out on this mission armed to the teeth, ready for anything, you know? And now I’m coming back, and all I’ve got is this.” He held up the dented red Swiss Army knife that he’d carried for so long. 

Mac’s face took on a strange cast. “Where’d you get that, anyway?” 

Shawn shrugged. “Murdoc gave it to me after I survived Death Row. Uh---that’s this obstacle course where they test new recruits.”

“I remember,” MacGyver said curtly. He glanced at Shawn for just a brief moment. “Murdoc gave you that, huh?” 

“Yeah. I don’t know where he got it, because he never actually used it.” Shawn ran his fingers over the pockmarked red surface and frowned. “It was like this when I got it.” 

“Open up the longest blade for a second.”

“Okay.” Shawn flipped it open and looked down at it. 

“Is there a long straight scratch down the right side?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?” 

Mac smiled. “I put that there while I was fixing Penny Parker’s car one day. Two months later, and I got into another scrape with Murdoc, down in Central America. I figured that I’d lost it somewhere, but I guess he must have gotten his hands on it. And apparently---he passed it on to you.”

Shawn shook his head in wonder and flipped the knife closed. “Wow. All this time, and I never knew.” A ripple of recognition crossed his face as he recalled what Murdoc had said all those years ago:  _ Oh, it was never mine.  _ “Or maybe I did.” Quietly, he held the knife out to MacGyver. “Here, you can have it back now.”

Mac shook his head. “Nah, you keep it. It’s yours now. You earned it.” 

“I thought you didn't approve of Death Row.”

“I wasn’t talking about HIT.” 

*********************

MacGyver landed the Cessna just a few miles outside of Baku, in a glistening lake nestled behind a picturesque mansion. 

Shawn sighed slowly. “So I guess this is it, huh?”

“What’s what?”

“We’re back in Azerbaijan. Mission’s over. No risk of---well, very small risk of death at this point. You’re going to turn me in now, aren’t you?”

It was MacGyver’s turn to sigh. “Maybe not.”

“I deserve it.”

“Maybe not.”

Shawn shifted his gaze from the window to MacGyver’s face, switching from listless to startled in a nanosecond. “How can you say that?”

“The fact that you seem guilty and upset makes me think that there’s some hope for you after all. So maybe I don’t need to call in the DXS just yet.”

Shawn frowned, confused. “You mean they’re not here already, waiting for us? What kind of rendezvous is this?” 

MacGyver sighed again as he watched the mansion’s resident steadily approaching the lake, coming to meet him. “The kind where someone is going to be very upset about the bulletholes in this plane. Come on, kid, let’s get this over with.”

Mac walked across the field between the lake and the mansion, trudging through slushy melting snow. 

Behind him, Shawn hugged himself, rubbing his short-sleeved arms. “How is it possible that we just went from the risk of frying and dehydrating to the risk freezing to death in, like, an hour or two?” 

MacGyver shrugged, wincing from the stinging wind. “Geography.” 

“Geography sucks.” 

“It doesn’t help that it’s only the first week of January.” 

Finally, they were close enough that the figure of the man across the field was clearly visible. “Ahoy, amigo!” he shouted, waving to them. 

“Hi, Jack,” MacGyver called. 

They met in the middle of the field and Jack Dalton grinned. “It’s about time you got back! I guess now that they’ve given you that fancy job as the new Director of the Phoenix Foundation, you don’t have to worry about showing up late to places, huh?” His lighthearted grin ebbed as he looked his friend over. “Mac, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Jack,” MacGyver said wearily. “Now, can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.” 

“Yeah, sure thing,” said Jack, walking with them toward the mansion. “You know, when I decided to move to a subtropical climate for retirement, it would’ve been nice if someone had told me that it’s a little more sub than tropical.” 

Shawn could see MacGyver gritting his teeth and decided to jump into the conversation. “Well, the good news is that your flight training allowed me to fly a helicopter out of danger. I also crashed it. But that was sort of on purpose, so there’s no need to give me a refund on that lesson you gave me a couple weeks ago.”

Jack squinted. “Mac, who is this guy again?”

“My name is Shawn. Shawn Spencer, ex-helicopter pilot.”

“I don’t remember giving you a lesson. Did I give you a lesson?”

“Jack, you  _ definitely  _ were the one who gave him the lessons,” Mac said pointedly. “My nerves would recognize that style of flying  _ anywhere _ .”

“Oh. Well, what’s he doing here?” 

MacGyver hesitated for just a second, glancing at Shawn. “He’s…he’s going to help me find out who killed Frank Colton.” 

Jack nodded in understanding. “I thought you’d already figured out who did it. That guy, that one guy, the one of Murdoc’s. You know, the psychopath.” 

“No,” MacGyver said. He left it at that, and Jack evidently knew better than to press further. 

After what seemed to Shawn like a lifetime of shivering, Jack finally swept them into the mansion via a pair of glass double doors and proclaimed, “Welcome to Casa Dalton! The jewel of Azerbaijan, if I do say so myself.” 

MacGyver rolled his eyes. “Jack finally managed to hit it rich.”

“Boneyards, amigo,” Jack said. “Boneyards!” 

Shawn blinked. “Bone what? What yards?”

“And here we go again,” Mac scoffed under his breath.

“Boneyards!” Swinging his arm around Shawn’s shoulders, Jack waved his free hand in the air. “That’s where the money is. At least, all of my money, anyway. It was almost ten years ago, late in October, and I’d just mangled up the propellor on my plane. It was a hunk of junk, a real lemon, but she was all I had, so I didn’t have a choice. I had to fix Clarabelle up if I wanted to stay in business.”

“Clarabelle?” Shawn echoed. “You named your plane Clarabelle? Really?” 

Jack stared at Shawn. “Look, kid, the flying scrap heap had more spots on it than a Holstein cow, only they were rust spots instead of---well, anyway, I named her Clarabelle, so quit interrupting my story. Now, Clarabelle needed a new prop and while I was at it, I also needed parts for the motor and an oil gauge and tires for the landing gear too, so I started looking around for parts.”

“Okay… Where exactly is this story going?”

“As fate would have it,” continued Jack as if Shawn hadn’t spoken, “wouldn’t you know it, my plane was so useless and out of date that there just weren’t any parts out there to be had. Not commercially or legally, anyway. I guess there wasn’t a whole lot of market for old Airphibians. So, I turned to the only option I had left: the boneyard.” 

“You dug holes for corpses for money to fix the plane?” 

“That’s a graveyard, kid, and those days are long behind me. No, the boneyard is a junkyard for aircraft that’re past their prime, and boy, was the one I went to a doozy! I could’ve built a whole new plane from scratch with all the spare parts I found. And they were all almost good as new! I’m telling you, kid, it’s a shame how much money gets wasted by putting those planes into junkyards. Do you have any idea how much money the federal government alone spends each year on sealants and rubber coatings to preserve outmoded planes?”

“Uh…no.” 

“Well, I did, and I said to myself, ‘Jack, me boyo, you’re in the wrong branch o’ this business. Junk and spare parts--- _ that’s  _ where the money is!’ And boy, was I right. I knew exactly what kind of junk to look for, so instead of being one of those suckers who flies around in an old scrap plane looking for work, I became the guy who sold the parts to those suckers to keep their old scrap planes running! And now I own most of the private boneyards in the continental U.S. plus Alaska----let’s not talk about Hawaii, because that was just a total misunderstanding---and I’ve also got this aviation parts company, so if you’d like to invest in----”

“Look, Jack,” MacGyver cut his friend off, “I really appreciate your help. But the only thing left to do---for  _ both  _ of us---is go back home. There’s nothing else that Shawn and I can do. I thought I’d find answers out here, but Frank’s killer is still out there, and I’m not gonna find him on this continent.”

“Or her,” Shawn said.

“What?” MacGyver asked. 

Shawn shrugged. “I’m just saying, some of HIT’s best operatives are women. Beautiful, usually very deadly women.”

Jack smiled sadly and doffed his aviator cap. “Tell you what, Mac. Just for old times’ sake, how about you let your old buddy Jack fly you back home, huh? I’ve got a new baby out in my hangar that I’ve been itching to take for a spin. I could get you at least part of the way.”

MacGyver returned the smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t ask you to do that. Besides, I don’t think your little Cessnas could ever get that far, no matter the pilot.” 

“Oh, Mac. Mac, Mac, Mac,” Jack said with a shake of his head. “I’ll have you know that I’ve come a long way from bush-league aircraft like the one you pumped full of lead.”

MacGyver lifted one eyebrow. “How far?” 

Jack smirked. “I’ve got my own corporate jet.” 

*********************


	3. Chapter 3

###  January 7, 2006

MacGyver had to admit, as he stretched out his long sore legs and leaned back in the leather seat, that Jack had come a long way from driving hand-painted taxicabs. He glanced at the seat next to him, where Shawn was sitting with a folder, poring over every scrap of evidence and information that he’d managed to gather on the murder of Frank Colton. 

“Any luck?” 

Shawn sighed and closed the folder. “No. Not at all. I thought this would be easy, but---I can’t figure it out. I have no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’ll---I’ll figure something out. Dig a little deeper and see what I can find…But at least now I know who  _ didn’t  _ kill him.”

“I can ask around,” Shawn said. “Try some of my contacts. Maybe---maybe someone will know something.” 

“I’d appreciate that,” MacGyver replied. Then he steepled his fingers. “So… Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do when we land?” 

Shawn shrugged. “Get off the plane, find a Red Robin, use the bathroom, and order a strawberry milkshake?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

Unconsciously, Shawn ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know. I, um… I’ve been thinking about some of the things you said.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, um…” Shawn swallowed hard. “I’m gonna pick up my bike in Charleston and then I’m gonna go home.”

MacGyver nodded. “What have you decided about HIT? I’m not so sure that they let their hitmen take vacations without asking.”

“I’m not a hitman, I’m an assassin, remember?” Shawn smiled weakly. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll figure something out.”

“If you’re half as indestructible as Murdoc, I know you will.” MacGyver smiled. 

*********************

Inside, Shawn was screaming. 

He’d seen the truth less than five seconds after he’d opened that folder. MacGyver had almost been right the first time: the murder was definitely Murdoc’s M.O. But he’d been wrong on one point: the killer hadn’t been Murdoc’s replacement. 

The killer had been Murdoc himself. 

But…why? 

With MacGyver beside him, Shawn knew that he had to stay calm and forced his fist not to clench. But Murdoc owed him some answers, and one way or another, Shawn was going to get them. 

*********************


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who's read "Judas In My Mind" should recognize this as being much the same as one of the chapters from that story... But this is the part of that chapter that you didn't see.

###  January 14, 2006 (Murdoc’s Take)

The telephone rang. Murdoc picked it up. “Yes?” he asked, his Jacques Leroux persona taking over on autopilot. 

“I need to know what HIT stands for.” The voice was Shawn’s. Of course it was. Of course. Murdoc had been dreading this day for a long time.

Jacques gave way to Murdoc, the way things always were when he spoke to Shawn in private, without their protective layers of deceit. “Homicide International Trust. I apologize, Shawn. I should’ve told you a long time ago.” 

Shawn choked up. “Why didn’t you?” 

The boy was angry. Upset. That wasn’t good. Murdoc knew that he needed to answer these questions carefully, or risk losing his protege forever.

“At first, to keep you from walking out. It was easier to mislead you than to explain. And later...to protect you.” 

“Protect me? From what?” 

“From your own conscience.”

“You had to know I’d find out eventually.”

“I did, Shawn, you’re right,” Murdoc said. “I knew that this call would one day come. But I played the coward. I couldn’t look you in the eye and tell you what I’d really gotten you into. You were only supposed to be my scapegoat when we first started---my sacrifice, so to speak---but by the end of it… I was wrong, Shawn.” He trailed off. How could he explain that he was in a constant power struggle to keep the two of them alive? That, with Murdoc’s personal feelings aside, Shawn was a mere pawn in a game begun over two decades ago? Finally, he settled for not explaining at all; changing the subject instead. “Do you remember what I told you, after you finished Death Row?” 

“Before or after I beat your record?” Shawn asked. 

Murdoc chuckled for the briefest of seconds. “Do you know, I don’t recall.” That was a lie. 

In spite of himself, a corner of Shawn’s mouth lifted. “I remember what you said, Murdoc. I know what you’re talking about.” 

_ Feelings are the enemy of efficiency. _

“I was wrong about that, too.” Another lie. His personal feelings for Shawn had gotten in his way time and time again. Just like his love for Penny Parker, and his vendettas against Sonia Chapel and MacGyver. Emotions were Murdoc’s constant demons, always the things that wrought his undoing, no matter how he’d always tried to avoid them. “What brought you to realize the truth? If I may ask.” 

“I met MacGyver.” 

Murdoc was silent for a long time. So that was why Shawn had called. The plan had failed. MacGyver lived, rather than being slain in “self-defense” in a godforsaken desert. If MacGyver was alive…then one of the two assassins was a dead man walking. 

“I didn’t want to tell the whole truth about him, either,” Murdoc said finally. “You’re too much like him. Clever, resourceful. ...That’s why I chose you to be my recruit in the first place.” He scoffed quietly. “He’s one of the good ones. And you are, too.” 

“So are you,” Shawn whispered. 

“No,” Murdoc replied. “Maybe once, a long time ago. But that was a very, very long time ago.” His one moment of glory had been protecting Ashton from Nicholas Helman. But Ashton was dead, and Penny was dead, and soon Murdoc himself would be dead. Death was simply unavoidable.

Shawn took a deep and shuddery breath. “So, what do I do now?” 

“That’s up to you.” Murdoc knew full well the answer; he didn't know why he bothered to ask. Vain hopes, perhaps.

“How do I get out?” 

Murdoc was silent for a moment. “I’ll take care of it.” A third lie. And in just one telephone conversation.  _ My, what a tangled web _ … 

“Thank you.” 

Shawn sniffled a little bit and hoped that Murdoc couldn’t hear the sound over the receiver. But he could, and to his own surprise, the sound produced a rare feeling of immense and crushing guilt. 

“Shawn?” 

“Yeah?” 

“If you can... Forgive me.” 

“Murdoc. Of course I do.” Shawn was silent for a moment. “Murdoc, why’d you kill Frank Colton?” 

Murdoc gripped the telephone cord so that he wouldn’t grit his teeth. “The Chairman called.”

********************* 

After Shawn had hung up the phone, Murdoc slowly dialed the number, cursing demons and deities and MacGyver alike as he waited and listened for the rings. He knew that she would pick up, and he hated her for it. 

The dialing stopped; the soft rustle of someone picking up the telephone. 

“This is Murdoc.”

“MacGyver isn’t dead.”

“I’m aware of that, Sonia.” He waited for her response. She said nothing, but he could hear her long fingernails tapping in the background, probably against the receiver. He hated her more than ever, fantasizing about all the ways she could possibly wind up dead. Stiff and cold and unmourned, just as she deserved. But Murdoc wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of letting her hear what she wanted to hear. No; he wasn’t going to call her  _ Ms. Chairman.  _

When it became clear that Murdoc wasn’t going to speak again, Sonia Chapel replied, “Your plan failed. Killing that bounty hunter to get Spencer in MacGyver’s sights… That was a smart move, but it wasn’t enough. Your replacement couldn’t fulfill the contract. The penalty for failure is death.”

“I’m aware of that also,” Murdoc said. “Which is why I’m asking you to retire Shawn and reinstate me in his place.” 

“Why should I? You’re too old to be of any use as an assassin, your skill sets are too outdated for you to mentor anyone anymore, and it’s obvious that you’ll  _ never  _ be able to take down MacGyver. Why would HIT possibly want you back, Murdoc? You’re pathetic.”

“There’s one thing that I can do for you, Sonia. Something no one has ever been able to do. Not you, not Helman, not even MacGyver.” 

Chapel’s voice was a mixture of suspicious and curious. “I’m listening.”

Murdoc steeled himself and said, “I’ll take on Shawn’s penalty for failure. I’ll take his place. Whenever, wherever, and however you please. And I’ll do it peacefully.” 

“And?”

“And when I’m dead, you cut all ties with Shawn and let him live out his life as if he’d never been part of HIT to begin with.”

“Done.” 

The line went dead. 

Murdoc placed the telephone down onto the table. He had a significant amount of planning to do. 

And this time, failure was not an option. 

**Author's Note:**

> At the time I wrote this, I wasn't keeping track of my sources in bibliographies as I do now (and if I did, I was terribly inconsistent). So I don't have a sources list for further reading on this one. However, all of the animals, vehicles, geography, and survival tips presented in this story are, to my knowledge, as accurate as possible.


End file.
